


Unnatural

by artisticPsychologist



Category: Half-Life
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticPsychologist/pseuds/artisticPsychologist
Summary: I used to do a stream of Half-Life 2 where I was in character as a female version of Gordon Freeman named Gina.  The ship of Gina/G-Man evolved out of the comment section on those streams.  This is an old, OLD fanfiction from tumblr that I'm backing up.





	1. Chapter 1

She hated these moments, when the world was quiet, still. Unnatural. Such a feeling- the air stifling her, inhibiting her- she hated it.

And then, he appeared.

She hated him.

He cleared his throat. It echoed through the frozen air like ice cracking. She hated his voice. How it paused on the wrong moments, lulled unnaturally on the vowels. But he didn’t speak. Standing there, in the stillness- a spray of blood erupting from the chest of a soldier behind him, it arched over his shoulder.

He looked, she thought, like Death.

How long did they stand there? It was hard to tell in the mockery of day. He took another step. It was loud, unnaturally so. She flinched, bringing the Gravity Gun to bear at him. Pointless, of course. He was as untouchable as the past- visible, but not tangible.

Again, that dreadful stillness. She stared at him. He took a second step. She almost backed away, but caught herself at the last moment. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Their gazes held. Not for the first time, she wondered what his name was. Did he even have a name? After a few minutes, she let the gun drop, distracted by the frozen midflail of the shot soldier behind him.

He approached her slowly, as if she were something dangerous. She supposed she was. But why would he possibly fear her?

He stood three feet from her. The closest she’d ever seen him. Up close, he looked both more vulnerable and more untouchable than ever. Pale, bags so large beneath his eyes they might well be suitcases, she thought he looked cold.

She waited. He still didn’t speak. Regarding her as a curiosity. She hadn’t seen that expression before. He’s regarded her with smugness, contempt, amusement, but never curiosity. And then, he reached out.

It was a stiff, jerky movement, as if he’d forgotten how to extend his arm. She brought the gun up immediately. Not sure what she would do, of course, but it was the idea that counted. He didn’t react besides a slight tightening of his eyes. Her heart was pounding now, fear rushing through her veins. She might never see Alyx again, never tell her, never thank Kleiner or Barney or Eli- she could simply disappear, and never be seen again. He could take her into another time and no-one would ever know. 

And then, his fingers brushed her face.

She froze completely, movement rolling out from her back, down her thighs, to the ground.

He was so cold.

The gun was pressed against his chest, over where a heart would be on any other person. She thought briefly that maybe she could kill him after all, but the Gravity Gun had no effect on him, even as she pulled the trigger. The core simply glowed. He smirked a little. She felt her lips thin, even as she took in how there was a small scar on his chin, a faint peppering of stubble along his jaw. Things that were too human to be alien.

He didn’t break the silence. She didn’t like how her hackles were settling, how she was relaxing. His fingers settled on her chin. She tensed, raising the gun to point at his Adam’s apple. He was so, so cold.

Nostrils flaring in preparation for an attack, her legs bending a little, he didn’t react. And she realized he didn’t smell. He had no scent. Not even cologne. That absence of humanity only reminded her of who she was standing before.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doctor Freeman.”

She rose her head defiantly. His thumb ran along her chin, along a freckle she had always hated. Somehow, his fingers, despite being so, so cold, left fire in their wake.

She locked eyes with him.

She realized he wasn’t breathing. His chest didn’t rise, his eyes never blinked. His thumb ran along her jaw now.

Her finger rested on the trigger.

“Doctor Freeman,” he said again, a strange tone to his voice now. His thumb stopped, aligning on her cheekbone, below a cut that still stung from shrapnel. Her lip rose, even as she felt blood rise to her cheeks. It was fear and anger, she told herself, and ignored the warmth pooling in her stomach.

Warmth? No. It was fire. Horrible and sudden, and consuming and angry and awful, awful, awful.

She pressed the gun against his throat. He laughed. His thumb ran a single circle against her cheek, around the cut, trailing that awful fire around it.

And then, time was moving again, the blood arching through the air, the soldier falling to the ground. And he was gone.

All that remained to prove he was ever there was the blush spreading across her cheeks and the fire in her stomach.

Gina exhaled once. Just once. And then she kept moving.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh, this bit looks a little tricky. Maybe if she has access to few grenades, she will be able to pass by safely. It’s a difficult shot, too. That is, if the dead rebel lying face up in a pool of his own decaying gore is any indication. She’ll need more than just a few explosives for this. Perhaps a full crate?

No, no, he can’t possibly do that. A full crate would be too conspicuous, even though it would provide her with all the ammunition she could possibly require.

No, she will just have to make do with a simple supply box.

He wonders if this will be enough.

Because he wants her to have more than enough. No matter the situation.

Of course, there are certain matters to consider. If he makes it too easy for her, suspicions could be aroused on both sides. Make it too easy, and the enemy begins to think it’s all her doing, all her skill, and they up the ante in the form of more troops and bigger artillery. Make it too easy, and she will become placid and relaxed. Make it too easy, and you bring about your own failure.

Still, he can’t stop himself from making it a baker’s dozen. Thirteen grenades should be more than enough, surely. His work here is done.

And with a jump, every last frozen atom continues hurtling along its way.

As does Gina Freeman.

“-ucking _pain in the ass!_ ” she screams, popping back into the natural time stream. After a quick, fervent prayer to nothing in particular that things will move more smoothly from here on in, she continues along the train tracks.

He stands not a few feet behind her as she surveys the area. If he wanted, he could reach out and touch her. Sometimes he wonders why he tortures himself this way.

He knows he ought to move on to the next area. But he lingers there, watching her go. She’s like some mix between his savior and his ward. He has been given strict orders to ensure the success of her mission, at all costs. All other life is expendable.

And if he fails, his life would be no different.

He really should move along. There’s much work yet to do in order to ensure her survival. She really is pathetic.

And yet, strangely enough, she’s the only person who could possibly hope to make a difference. She’s the only woman for the job. And now is the only time that she could hope to succeed.

And that fact intrigues him. This girl has had no formal military training. She’s only once been introduced into a combat zone, and for the most part she had been comfortable with the terrain. She’d walked the halls of Black Mesa every day of her life, after all. If that’s not familiar terrain, he doesn’t know what was.

Perhaps it’s just a matter of luck. Or perhaps it has _everything_ to do with the fact that she has no combat experience. Fighting fire with fire isn’t always the answer.

But whatever it is that makes her so special, he doesn’t see it.

He continually worries that she will be killed or become lost. That she’ll fail her planet, her people, and his employers. That she will fail _him._

This mission is his ticket home, after all.

There’s no way he could leave her alone without experiencing some form of anxiety. As long as he has his eye on her, he can easily intervene if any problems should arise. Once she’s out of his sight, though, providing aid becomes problematic.

Of course, he’s thoroughly ensured that there will be no incident. So much is riding on this, after all. And she matters so much _and what is he thinking?_

She is nothing but a sniveling _child_ , that by some random coincidence holds in her hands the power to change his life for the better, and _damn it,_ he’s _doing_ it again.

All this time, he has guided her. Protected her. And he would be in denial if he believed for even one moment that doing so had not had an impact on him. It’s only now, though, that he’s beginning to lose himself. It’s only now that he seems to feel safe, fulfilled even, solely when around _her_. Sometimes he’ll even allow himself to be seen, partly in order to draw her towards the correct path, and partly because he _wants_ to be seen by her.

It’s perfectly natural, though. It’s been many years since last he had contact with one of his own kind. And he’s spent far too long in this stuffy, human body. That’s simply all there was to it.

Well, no matter. These fleeting, meaningless desires have nothing to do with his profession. And there is still so much work to be done. She’ll just have to handle things on her own until next they meet.

A tad begrudgingly, he disappears.


End file.
